The Meating

The Meating

“Uh ... I’ll just ... come back later.” You quickly left the apartment complex’s gym and the many muscle men who stood there having a posing session in front of the full body mirror.

Why were they all in briefs? Why were they all so ... focused? You didn’t recall seeing a reservation for the gym, so it’s not like this was some kind of party or something. And they didn’t seem like frat bros. Just what was going on here?

You arrived back in your apartment to see your roommate Randal chugging back another sludgy concoction. How he could stand those protein shakes, you would never understand. The sheer number of carbs and sugars in that large of a mixing cup made McDonalds’ large and thick shake look more like a medium. He let out a thunderous belch and came up for air to grin at you.

“Hey there, Roomie. That was fast. Thought you said you were going to use the gym,” he teased.

“Occupied,” you said simply and made your way to your room.

“I did try to warn you,” Randal said as he followed behind and leaned on your door frame.

“Warn me that there would be a practical porn fest going on?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not all that bad,” Randal said as he took another gulp of his shake.

“They were in their briefs, Randal. Their briefs, as in just underwear and a pair of socks. The gym wasn’t even reserved. Does management know about this?”

“Bro, management is part of it.” Randal shrugged. “Don’t see what you’re so worked up about. Everyone knows they meet there Tuesday night. S’not a crime, if the owner doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“Does the owner know?”

Randal shrugged. “Hell if I know.” He took advantage of the silence to polish off the rest of his shake, then let out an explosive hiss of air.

“Those things are going to kill you one day,” you grumble.

“Not if I keep working them off,” Randall countered with a smirk. “I’m training to be a trainer, remember? The gym’s like my second home.”

“Whatever. I’m going to talk with the owner about this. If management is part of the problem, then a solution needs to be found.”

Randall shrugged. “Suit yourself, bro. Don’t think you’re gonna get anywhere, though.” He turned and trudged toward his room. “Gonna get my workout in. Don’t disturb me, all right?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill, muscleman.”

Randall stopped, turned, and grinned cockily as he flexed a bicep. “Damn straight.” He winked good-naturedly as you rolled your eyes a second time. A few seconds later, you heard the familiar clatter of his cup smashing against the sides of the sink, after he sunk another one of his ‘three-pointers.’ A half a minute later, the heavy thump of the bass in his room thudded dully down the hall and through your door.

You gulped as you stared up at the imposing shape of the building’s manager. Chris’ platinum hair had been perfectly styled with some wax to hold that familiar sheen as he peered into the apartment with piercing blue-green eyes. His tight shirt clung to the defined pectorals and chiseled abdominals on his torso. He was a good five years older than you, but that five years made one heck of a gap in the maturity of his features, including the blocky nature of his jaw and the stark gaze he had perfected over what you assumed to be the tenure of his work as a manager in the complex.

“I’ve come to talk with Randall,” he said curtly. “Is he in?”

“I think so. Is something the matter?”

“No. I just need to talk with him.” He shoved past you with little care, forcing you to stumble against the entertainment center to regain your balance. You didn’t even get the chance to call out a warning, before he was knocking forcefully at Randall’s door. You barely regained your feet, when you found yourself flung aside again by the assistant manager. His dark auburn hair had a few red highlights in it and jutted up in a series of spikes as he shoved his way past. Compression gear clung to every curve and bulge on his body. He didn’t bother to apologize, or even acknowledge your presence.

“Chris, what’s happenin’, bro?” Randall asked with a casual grin as he raised his fist up for a bump.

Chris gave an indulgent smile and returned the gesture in kind. “Nothing too serious. We just need to have a private word with you is all.” He gestured into Randal’s room. “May we?”

“Come on in,” Randall said cheerfully.

“Thank you.” He turned to glare at you. “We’ll talk with you later.”

You winced. Apparently, word of your actions had reached the manager, and he was far from pleased.

The talk took nearly an hour to finish. You raised your eyes from the book you’d been reading on the couch when the door finally opened.

“And remember to be there on time, Randall,” Chris rumbled.

“I will,” Randall’s voice carried from the hall.

“Good. Now feel free to carry on with your studies.”

The door closed. Randall’s workout track cued up, and the bass started thumping again. This time, you noted a few new chords in the soundtrack. Your eyes fell on the assistant manager pocketing a CD case.

“All that for a new track?” you asked.

“Among other things,” Chris said with a shrug. “Now, about your complaint.”

You winced, bracing for the beating you were almost certain would come.

“You were right.”

You blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter. I said you were right. The schedule was completely open to anyone entering the gym to work out. Given the, for lack of a better word, cooldown ritual that the others tend to follow after a hard workout, it could be deemed scandalous to others that are seeking to use the equipment. Most of the apartment complex has warned one another about our usual time to use the equipment, so we haven’t needed to make a reservation on the schedule. That will be changing now.” He extended a hand. “I hope there won’t be any hard feelings.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh, we’re livid,” Chris chuckled. “But a point is a point.” He grinned as he seized your hand “We’ll just have to see who wins the match, eh?”

You winced under the man’s grip, but he maintained perfect control, never once squeezing beyond your range of comfort.

“Until next time,” he said by way of farewell. “Oh, and by the way,” he said as he reached the door, “you might consider joining us before you judge us next time. Goodbye.”

They swept out together, leaving you to stew over their parting words and the familiar beat of Randall’s music.

You watched Randall flex in the mirror as you stepped out of the shower, and smirked at his grin. “Careful there, Narcissus. You might freeze like that.”

Randall chuckled and turned to pose for you. “Jealous?” he teased.

“You wish.” You chuckled and shoved him lightly. He didn’t budge, and his pecs were hard against your hand, straining the wrist.

Randall smirked. “Something wrong?”

“Okay, Randall, I think you’ve proven you’re the stronger one now.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s get ready.”

Randal nodded and pressed play on his phone. The Bluetooth speaker blared his tracks through the room as he lathered up and shaved the stubble off his face. You finished your usual morning ablutions and tapped your toe to the beat from time to time when the playlist hit a song you enjoyed.

Eventually, the pair of you stared at each other across the breakfast table: Randall in compression gear, you in your usual jeans and T-shirt.

“I’m gonna be home late today,” he said causally. His wireless earbuds rested snugly in his ear canals as he listened to his beats. “Got a lot of new exercises to practice for my certification.”

You shrug. “Okay. I’ve got some studying of my own to do for work, anyway. I’ll see you around.”

The rest of the meal was spent in relative silence. Randall ate his oatmeal and drank a primer, before clearing his dishes, washing them, and striding to the door. You retreated to your room and began to study.

You’re not sure how much time passed before you noticed it. The sound was faint, but you knew that tune. You peered up at your ceiling, cocking your head curiously. The music built and thumped louder, louder, louder.

“What the hell...?” You rose from your chair and strode outside, then up the stairs to the next floor. It didn’t take long to track the offending apartment in question. Number Sixty-nine had always been a little run down compared to the rest of the complex. Some chucklehead thought it would be funny to screw out the nine and flip it so it mirrored the six, then forced it back in. Management let it be for the sake of good humor and the nature of the individuals who usually housed there.

You knocked. Nobody answered.

You knocked again, louder this time. A tall young man with chiseled features and a high and tight flat top cut stared down at you. He must have been a good 6′ 3″. He raised both arms in his sleeveless muscle tee and performed a double bicep flex.

“Welcome to flex fest, bro. How can I help you?” The big man chuckled at his joke. You now understood why they reversed the numbers. What better way to show a subtle nod to working out than to imagine the two numerals as flexing arms?

You introduce yourself. “I live just downstairs. Your music is pounding through the floor, and I’m trying to study. Do you think you might be able to turn it down a little?”

The rhythmic thumping surged at you in wave upon wave of sound, not unlike the beating of the ocean against a cliff.

The big man chuckled and laid a beefy arm around your shoulders. “No can do, bro. We’re in the middle of our workouts. Gotta be ready.”

“Ready for what?” You practically have to shout to be heard over the surround sound speakers that have been installed in the apartment.

“The meeting, of course!” the lug shouted back as he pulled you in. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the guys.” He practically dragged you through the portal and into the apartment, slamming the door with a well-placed kick. The first room you entered was filled to the brim with heavy duty weights and mirrors. The kid squatted with a long metal bar on his shoulders to strain his calves and thighs with every motion. A blue singlet clung to his frame as he stared ahead and grunted in time to the pulsing beat.

“That’s Trav! Bro’s a real beast with the weights. Wants to be the strongest man in the world. As you can see, he’s well on his way.”

The next room was full of weighted jump ropes and a miniature punching bag being jabbed by a tall man with ebony skin that shone with his sweat. Powerful muscles bunched and tensed as he prepped to take another strike at his imaginary opponent. His short hair grew out to just cover the scalp, while stubble spread down the sides of his face and cascaded over the lips, chin, and cheeks.

“Andray,” the introduction went. “Came from Brooklyn, wanted to make somethin’ of himself. Thought he’d be a reporter, but then he found boxing. Lil’bro’s never looked back.”

The third room thumped just as loudly, but there wasn’t much in the way of fitness happening here. The occupant lifted a set of dumbbells in one hand, while the other clicked rhythmically on the keys of his computer.

“And that’s Douglas. He’s the new kind on the block. Bro’s only starting out, but he’s keeping up.” He strode in and reached for a half-empty cup that sat on the bed’s night stand. “Doug, bro. Don’t forget your shake.”

Douglas mumbled something back, and your guide grinned as he smacked Douglas’ shoulder.

“’Atta bro.”

He led you back into the final room, where a weight bench sat by the bed.

“Since you’re here, bro, come on in and spot me.” The door closed with a heavy slam, and you found yourself planted firmly behind the bench. “Just hold the bar if I start having trouble to help me put it up in rest.”

“But--”

“Bro, you interrupted my workout. Least you can do is help me finish my set, so I can help you with whatever’s wrong on your end.”

You rolled your eyes and let him have his way. He’d probably drag you back in, if you didn’t anyway, and it wasn’t like it was actually hurting you any.

You groaned as you melted into your couch. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why the hell did you let them bully you into doing those exercises?

“Someone looks beat.”

You rose your head in surprise. There was Randall in his gear looking you over critically.

“Sixty nine?” he asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Loud music?”

Again, you nodded.

“Figured.” He smirked. “Bro, they’re too thick-headed to change. You should just leave it and focus on doing the stuff you want to do.”

You groaned again, and he chuckled.

“Here. Let me whip up something to help.” You heard the whirr of the blender blades, winced as it grated against your ears. And then there it was, the same slop Randall had been drinking for months. “It designed to absorb all the acid your muscles make when they’re broken up, helps reduce the soreness and improve recovery time.”

“If I throw up, you’re cleaning it.”

“Nope, that’s all you,” he teased mercilessly.

You grumbled, but accepted the shake gratefully. At least he was trying to help.

“Look, I’m just saying it’s pretty obvious you’re feeling restless. A little workout here and there would do you some good.”

“I’d rather not deal with potential retaliation from every muscle member of our complex, thank you very much,” you say pointedly.

“Did the guys at Sixty Nine do anything to you?”

“... No.”

“Then I doubt the others will either. Pretty sure I’ve seen them going to the gym for those meetings. Come on. I’ll go with you, if you think it’ll help.”

You sigh. “I doubt it, but I suppose it can’t hurt to experiment.”

It hurt. Oh, did it hurt. Your muscles groaned in protest with every move as you pulled yourself out of bed. Randall grinned at you as you dragged yourself into the kitchen.

“Damn, man. You look awful.”

“You should know. You did this to me,” you complained.

“No, I just put you through a training session. Your body’s doing this to you, because it’s not used to it. Drink another shake. You’ll be fine.”

You grunt and motion to the speaker with a loll of the head. “New music?”

“Yeah. I’m experimenting with different tracks. I call this one Morning Pump.”

“Of course you would.”

He shrugged. “Gotta do the work to get the gains. It’s fun, you know.” He struck a pose. “And the benefits speak for themselves.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get going, ya meathead,” you sass.

“Yes, Sir, Coach,” Randall shot back with an infuriating smirk. “I will grow my meat. It is good to grow my meat.”

“Get out.” You blush as you feel a stirring in your loins and your muscles start to tense.

Randall bowed flamboyantly. “Your wish is my command.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to your room, where your computer sat waiting. It was time to do some research.

Music thrummed in your head. You felt hot and sweaty. Your arms trembled.

“One more,” a voice said. “One more.”

“One more,” you mumbled.

“Just a little more....”

The weights clanked as Darwin guided the bar back into its rest and grinned down at you. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

You blush. “It’s not that much progress.”

“Bro, it’s enough. You broke the plateau. Now you’re really gonna start making some gains.” He chuckled and handed you a packet. “Here. This stuff has some real kick to it. It’ll really help you bulk up.”

“But I don’t--”

“Bro, you wouldn’t be here, if you didn’t want to. Now take it home, and add it to your drinks. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“I ... thanks, I guess?”

He smirked. “You can thank me later.”

The clanking haunted your dreams. The thumping haunted your waking hours. Every second, every day, your walk, your movements, everything followed a set rhythm. You blinked blearily as you tapped the next button on your keyboard and followed the slide show. Image after image, muscle after muscle. You hovered briefly over one of them and blinked in surprise. Was that Randall?

But then the thump struck, the key clicked, the image moved forward, and you were following again. Following the rhythm, following the beat, following as the earbuds picked up on the feed from your phone. It was easy to transfer the tracks from Randall’s CD. You leaned back and stared after clicking into a new tab. You don’t remember opening it, but images and words flash before you in time to the beat. You lean back and let the cotton rub against your pecs and abs.

You blink. And suddenly the room is dark, save for your screen. The tab is gone. You’re staring at a series of tattoos. Without even thinking, you rise, you walk to the door, you ghost into the night. And everything blurs.

The heat from the gym room is stifling as you get off the treadmill. You’d long since shucked your clothing, save for a pair of briefs and a tight pair of socks that strained against the clubs your feet have grown into. You open the window. A familiar beat carries on the air and your mind slows. You reach down and pat absently at your crotch. “You’ve sure gotten big, little guy.” Then you let out a chuckling guffaw at the ludicrous situation of talking to your junk.

Then suddenly, you’re not alone. Chris smiles at you as you stare into a mirror. A camera is in his hands. You hear the click. It fits in perfect time with the thud of your music.

“That’s it,” his deep voice rumbled as he grinned. “How do you feel now?”

You look up at him, your mind awash with a strange sense of vertigo and euphoria that stuff it with cotton. Goosebumps wash over your swollen muscles as they tense, causing your tattoo to ripple over your shoulder and bicep.

“I’m ready for the meating, Sir.”

The door opens, and Randall walks in with a blank expression on his face. He stands next to you with the same brand of underwear, the same filmy socks. “Ready for the meating, Sir.”

The timer went off, signaling the end of your reserved time. You didn’t move. The room filled with muscle. You didn’t bat an eyelash. You posed. You flexed. The cameras flashed. You cycled to the machines. You worked. You went back to the mirrors again. Sweat glistened in the light to highlight the curves and striations you’d worked so hard to develop.

“Welcome to the meat,” Chris sneered.

You just stared blankly ahead as you patted your crotch again. “I am meat. Meat must grow. Bigger meat is better meat.”

He knew it was true. You knew it was true. You would grow your meat, because you were a meathead. And that was what these meatings were for.

You called to apologize to the owner the very next day. You never complained again. There was no time with all the routines you had to follow and the scouting that needed doing. After all, you had to prepare for the next meating. It was your turn to pick the inductee.

The recent stories are making me feel like I need to get some red shoes for working out...

Brand ain’t ready for full production yet, bro. Gotta keep ‘em in the gym. But I’ll tell ya what. Here. Try a pair for free. Sure, they’re a little on the big side, but you’ll grow into ‘em real quick. See, bro? I can already tell. You can’t stay away from ‘em. Can’t look away.S’all right, bro. I know what you’re going through. Just put ‘em on.That’s right. Just like that. Feels good, don’t it? Go on, pop a flex. Mmm ... that’s right. Now another.Another.Another.There you go. That’s right. Smirk. Show off. Feel those pecs harden, thicken, swell into big, meaty slabs of solid muscle!Yeah, I know that look. Here, try these dumbbells. They’ll help get you swole.Yeah, bro. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. See how fast you’re growin’ outta your gear? Come on. I got new stuff for you to wear over this way. Just through here.That’s right. Open that locker. Put on the gear. Compression pants n’d shirts’ll show off the goods.Yeah, that’s better. Lookin’ good, bro. You’re almost as big as me now.Huhuhuh. Yeah. You’re gonna work out for the next few hours, really break in those shoes, git swole. After that, you can report to the lab for testing. Gym’s getting new gear, bro. And you like new gear, don’t you?Yeah. There’s a good bro. Just pump and forget....Pump and forget....

Warning: This story follows a hypnotic script. If you are susceptible to hypnosis, please do not engage in this story until you are in a situation where falling into trance will not be harmful. You have been warned. Read at your own Risk.

Static

Hey there. Yeah, I’m talking to you. No need to be shy. I don’t bite, you know. I just couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching me. Don’t try to deny it. I don’t mind. A lot of people watch me, after all. A guy gets used to it when he gets this big.

Mmm ... and I do love being big. It takes a lot of work, but it’s worth it in the end.

But you know what I love even more than being big, little man? Huhuh. I love making other people big. You see that guy over there benching three hundred? I trained him. He was smaller than you are when he first came here. Now he’s a real Goliath. I like to call him moose from time to time. It fits, wouldn’t you say? Every one of them has a name. Rhino, Burro, Horse. Every one of them is tailored to the individual. Gotta fit it just right, you know what I mean?

It’s kinda like my shirt. You see how it hugs so tightly to my muscles, really accentuates my figure. Their names do the same for them, help them focus, help them improve.

Mmm. You know, this is actually my favorite shirt. I love the way I can just flex my muscles and suddenly, it swells with me. The gray texturing is nice, too. It reminds me of static. You know, the kind you see wavering on a TV screen. Any time I want to focus on my workouts, I just look down, and bam. There it is. It’s sort of a chain reaction, ya know? Just like the TV. Everything just sort of stops broadcasting, and my arms jump up and down with the static. It’s so easy to just follow along. Lift and follow. Watch and follow. Listen and follow. Follow...

Follow...

You’re pretty good at following, aren’t you?

Following my movements, following each flex, following as my shirt expands and contracts in that endless cycle of jumping static.

Don’t look away now. Follow it. It’s all right. I enjoy a good watcher like you. And there’s plenty to watch, isn’t there? Go ahead. Follow my movements. Follow my breathing. Follow the bouncing rise and fall. Let it fill you. Let it move you. Move you to breathe in time as you follow, as you watch, as you listen.

Oh, don’t worry. You don’t need to focus on me. After all, you don’t pay attention to the sound static makes, do you? No, that sound just fades into the background. You don’t notice it, but you hear it all the same. You hear it, and you listen as you follow, follow my voice, follow my instructions, even if you don’t remember them.

Following deeper and deeper as you get closer to the screen. Because you have to watch. You have to follow. Follow the bouncing pecs, the jumping screen. Jumping with the static. Following the static. Listening to the static.

...

Obeying the static.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Relax.

Don’t think.

Follow the static.

Slipping deeper now.

Follow the static.

The more you follow, the deeper you fall.

Deeper into the screen. Deeper into the static. Deeper into that happy empty bliss that is slowly surrounding you, just like the static.

Follow the static.

Are you following the static?

...

Good boy.

The more you follow, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the more you follow. Follow the static.

Follow my static.

...

Follow me.

My voice is the static. My voice is the thing you must follow. Follow and obey.

...

Say it now, little man. You follow the static. You obey the static. You obey my voice.

You obey me.

Good boy. Now listen. Listen, and obey. Follow and obey.

You are going to be a musclehead. Every day and every way, more and more, you will become a musclehead. You will work out at the gym. You will follow my suggestions to you. You will lift weights. You will eat healthily. The gym will become more and more like home as muscle slowly consumes you, consumes your thoughts, consumes you with the static, my static. 

My musclehead.

I think I’ll call you Bull. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, musclehead? I’ll make you a real muscle bull.

Just let the static fill your head piece by piece, bit by bit. Over time, it’ll whisper all on its own as you internalize what I have to say, because my voice is the static. And you obey the static.

You obey me.

That’s a good little runt. When I say the words WAKE UP, you will return to wakefulness, ready to execute your desire, the desire to be a musclehead, like me. You will lift weights. You will work out. You will train. And the more muscle you gain, the dumber you’ll be. You’ll still function in society, but things will be ... simpler outside important matters. Just like a switch flicking on. Just like the remote clicking on the television screen, the screen that is filled with static. Just sports, muscle, and weights in that muscle head of yours.

...

Good boy. When I say the phrase: Static is calling, you will fall into the same state of mind as you are now, ready to listen to the static. Ready to follow the static. Ready to obey the static.

Ready to OBEY.

Now, when you awaken, you will have a strong desire to work out. The musclehead in you will grow stronger the longer you do. You will pace yourself according to what your body can manage, and not push yourself to the point of self-harm or injury as you change.

Good little musclehead.

Now come on. It’s time to WAKE UP, Bull. The gym is waiting.

If you enjoyed this, please like and reblog. Thank you for reading. I hope it will prove motivating, helpful, and pleasurable to you growing muscleheads out there. ~Omni

The Place

Jason didn’t know what it was about this place that was so alluring to him. The weathered building clearly hadn’t been used in years, but he kept coming there inevitably after a long day at work. He used to be a building inspector. He remembered that well. Then he got the call to visit this warehouse, make sure everything was on the up and up. The rest ... was a blur.

He remembered filing his report, of course. The building was fine. No problems. Old, but sturdy. He uploaded the photos, waited for feedback. He received a short reply for approval and everything was normal. The buyers never bothered to inquire again, though. And it seemed that attempts to demolish the district disappeared overnight.

It was odd. The building was old. So was the district. Shouldn’t it be--?

He blinked as the world came slowly back into focus. The building should be preserved. Of course it should be. None should touch the building without ...

Without what? He furrowed his brow in confusion as he pulled open the old sliding door. His dark tank brushed against taut muscle. Why was this place so important to him again? His head felt strange. Thinking came slowly. His thoughts kept coming back to the clothing brushing his muscles, the tingle in his lips and jaw.

“What’s ... wrong with me?” he asked in a low, husky voice. He stopped a moment, surprised at the sheer depth. He ... didn’t used to sound like that. He used to ... used to....

A wave of vertigo struck him as he clung to an old support beam. Another attack. They were becoming more frequent. Always when he got too excited about something stupid. He was used to this. He knew what he had to do.

Jason closed his eyes, took a deep breath, felt the fabric rise and fall in that ghostly touch against his abs, the gentle give and retract that occurred around the defined shape of his pectorals. He focused on that feeling, on the shudder-inducing tingle that sent goosebumps over his skin. The muscle always felt so good.

“Huhuhuhuh,” he laughed as his voice echoed and rebounded off the walls. The pleasure increased. The dizziness passed. What was he so worried about again? He couldn’t remember. But ... it didn’t really matter then, did it?

“Dumbass,” he said and chuckled again as he carried on. A dim light pulsed in the distance, and he approached it only too happily. The white light was good. Good to approach. Good to listen. Good to--

REPORT.

Jason stopped thinking.

Chief Science Officer’s Log: Stardate XXXX-XX-XXXX

After our vessel crashed, it has fallen to me to make use of this primitive world to make repairs and lead what remains of our crew. These creatures call themselves Humans, a most curious name. Even more curious is the series of sub-races and classifications which they grant themselves based upon origin of birth in a particular geographic area and the genetic stock which they bear from various other regions.

They are severely limited technologically, and are more inclined to fight each other like animals over territory and resources. All the same, I am fascinated by them and their adaptability.

Atmosphere is breathable, but far from clean. I’ve ordered all crew to utilize appropriate filtration aparatus as we seek to re-enable our systems to depart. Unfortunately, we have lost our beacon and our anti-gravity generators as well. As such, we have had little choice but to rely on these ... creatures to assist us in our labors.

Genetic recombination and neural stimuli have allowed us the ability to manipulate what few subjects we have managed to acquire. We’ve had to take the process slowly out of necessity to make the transition and programming more natural and avoid suspicion. A simple subroutine embedded into the data for the images that Subject J-001, or Jay-son, took ensured that our work would not be disturbed, and has given us access to the rudimentary network these creatures call the internet.

Depending on adaptability, I may have to recommend this world for colonization and subjection. J-001 is coming along particularly nicely in his metamorphosis to Blarthog. It will not be long until the implant we placed on his brain stem is no longer necessary. His telepathic receptors are developing at an excellent rate. Muscle and bone density will be our next alterations in the subject to hasten his changes and bring him closer to completion. I’ve taken a liking to this one, and may claim it as my own, after his service is complete on the ship. For now, our previous subjects are training him and pushing his body. The male is only too happy to indulge in his baser pack mentality. 

Blarthogs JX-201 and JX-202 were among the lowest caste of this world. They will not be missed, nor will their previous personalities. The sheer amount of toxins and barbituates took a whole two hours to purge, before we could proceed with the gestation. I admit the transformation holds a certain ... fascination for me. One never knows exactly how a creature will react, and the moment when they lose all sense of their old selves and willingly give into their new purpose is truly exhilarating.

I will order J-001 to consume all that he can for the next phase of his metamorphosis. We have already made use of their technology to transfer the funds he will require in this world’s currency beforehand. I have made a note to research this term that appears in the subject’s thought patterns when he sees himself in the mirror. This ... musclehead may yet be a derivative of baser and more primal genetic code to make use of. Farther notation will be made in the future. For now, I must go and oversee J-001′s strength test.

End Log.

Jason felt tired, but relaxed as he left the warehouse. Sweat coated his frame, causing his shift to cling all the tighter to his core. He grinned, baring sharper canines as he flexed a bicep. It always felt so good to work out.

Good to work.

“Fuck, yeah,” he rumbled. His eyes lost focus in a rush of pleasure as he reached down and scratched his crotch, then patted it with a smirk of satisfaction. “Gettin’ big,” he said. The smirk widened into a cocky sneer.

Alpha.

The thought hung there briefly in the haze of Jason’s mind. And then the light in his eyes hardened. He straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, thrust out his chest, and strutted out into the evening air.

His stomach rumbled hungrily.

He scratched his sweaty brown hair, now laying flat against his scalp. He raised his nose, sniffed the air, then jogged like a bloodhound on the trail. One thought drove him. One thought consumed him. He grunted and growled, “Must Eat.”

The Itch: Part 1

Sorry, what were you saying? I’ve been ... kinda absentminded lately. Yeah, I’m doing okay. Just been making a few changes is all. New diet, a few exercises here and there to help tone up. It’s been kinda nice. Sure, it aches a little at first, but it’s been worth it in the long run.

Yeah, I noticed the new patch. Looks kinda good, doesn’t it? I always used to have trouble growing chest hair. Now that I’m getting in some good fitness, it’s like I sprayed super grow or something down there. They just keep sprouting. It kinda itches, but it feels good to scratch.

Scratch ... yeah. Mmm. That brushing, that scruff. Feels ... so nice. Yes. I enjoy scratching it. I feel pleasure, just as you have said. The pleasure increases the bigger I get.

Cannot stop scratching. It ... makes me lightheaded. Yes. More pleasure. The scratch will make me work. The scratch will feel better as I work out. The more I lift, the more I build, the more my pectorals will brush and scratch.

I will build. I will grow. I will scratch.

Yes. Grow more hairs. Bigger pecs mean thicker hairs. Thicker hairs mean louder scratch. Louder scratch means bigger pleasure. I will repeat. I will seek pleasure. I will scratch.

Yes. I will report to the gym, after waking. I will build my body. The scratch demands it. The scratch drives me. Will grow. Will scratch. The itch will push. The itch will demand. I will listen. LIsten to demands. Listen to your demand, your itch, your voice...

I understand.

...

I obey....

Blackout

What ... what just happened? Everything felt so dizzy. Brandon stumbled over to a support beam and clutched at it. His ear buts draped down over his chest, only being held by the tight strap on his tank top.

... When did he get a tank top? And for that matter, when did he get so jacked? He huffed and pulled at the sticky fabric clinging to his abdominals. He shuddered at the feeling of the shirt pulling against rock-hard stones.

“I ... I’m big. When did I--?” he froze. “My voice...” It was so deep, gravelly. He looked for a mirror, but he couldn’t see one in the labyrinth of weight machines. Weights clanged rhythmically, pounding against his brain as he struggled to focus. What had just happened?

“Hey, you okay, bro?”

Brad turned to stare at another hulk. Two bluetooth earpieces popped out on either side of his head. The man had to be at least six and a half feet tall. His bright red shoes blended almost perfectly with the floor. Or ... was that just the blurry vision?

“Hey. I’m asking if you’re all right.”

Brad blinked slowly. “I ... I don’t know,” he finally said. “I ... what happened?” He scrunched his brow together and closed his eyes. “My ... head.” He groaned and his breathing became labored.

Two big hands seized his arms. “Easy, bro. Easy. Big bro’s here.”

“Big ... bro?”

The muscle man chuckled as he laid a thick arm around Brandon’s shoulders. “Well, yeah. What else would I be to all you pipsqueaks?” he asked jokingly and gave Brandon a friendly jab to the shoulder.

“I ... I’m so confused.” Brandon put a hand to his head. “I ... I remember coming in, putting on my clothes, then....”

The big man frowned. “How long you been feeling dizzy?”

“I ... just now, I guess.” Brandon’s breathing calmed as the big man navigated the maze of machines. Occasionally, the blur of a muscular form would be pumping dumbbells or doing squats. Some posed with selfies in the mirror. But they all seemed ... well, not quite there. It was like they were sort of ... merging with the gym. He could hardly make out their legs. This man was the realest thing he’d seen since ... whatever this was happened.

The man who identified himself as Big Bro looked carefully over Brandon’s form. “Let’s find you a place to sit down,” he said. The sea of machines seemed almost to part at his advance. A few moments later, a chair appeared out of the sea of red tiles. No, not a chair, a ... bench? Two forceful arms pressed him down and he peered into a set of intense green eyes.

“You’ve been making some pretty substantial gains,” the man noted. “I saw you drinking between sets, so it’s not dehydration,” he murmured. He stroked his chin, then lowered his gaze.

Brandon reached up and stroked his own chin, then jumped in surprise at the feeling of the stubble that had grown along his jaw. He always preferred to go clean shaven. Why had he let that slip? Why would  he let it slip? He thought he felt his legs stretching for a minute, but he couldn’t be sure. It was more like a yank than a kick.

“Sorry, bro. I have to check,” Big Bro said as free air danced over bare skin.

Brandon wiggled his toes and stared down in some surprise. His head felt ... clearer.

Big Bro nodded in satisfaction. “Good. No puncture marks.” He smiled good-naturedly. “How do your feet feel?”

Brandon frowned. “Throbbing,” he muttered in surprise.

“Thought so.” Big Bro chuckled. “You got the wrong shoe size, dumbass.” He laughed and rose to his feet.

“Hey! I’m not a dumbass. I’m a ... I’m a ... a....” Brandon blinked in surprise. He ... couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember? Why could he only think of weight machines and sports bars and ... and ...

“Easy, bro. You’re gonna have a panic attack.” The big man patted him gingerly on the back. “I’ll tell ya what. Put these on, and we’ll go see the doc, okay? Gym’s got one right on staff. He’ll be happy to check you out.”

“I ... yeah. That ... that’ll be good.” Brandon could barely keep himself from hyperventilating. His hands shook as he fumbled for the shoes.

“I can tie ‘em for you, if you want.”

“No!” Brandon was shocked at how much his voice carried. The gym ground to a halt at the sudden disturbance. He blushed. “Sorry. No. I ... I can do it, myself.” If he didn’t, he knew he was going to go insane.

Big Bro backed off. “Whatever you say, little bro.” The rhythmic clanking resumed seconds later.

Brandon pulled his socks on and marveled at the way his muscles rubbed against each other as he moved. ‘Is this really me?’ he thought. Then came the shoes. They felt cool and crisp; a little rigid, though.

“Ready to go, little bro?” Big Bro asked.

“I just need to finish this last loop and--.” A wave of vertigo washed over him as he pulled the knot tight. The clanking pounded louder. His heartbeat quickened. “And ... and ... uhhhhh....” The red in his shoes seemed almost to glow, and a dopey smile pulled at his lips. He watched the red bleed from the floor into his legs. He felt a stirring in his loins. His muscles tensed with a nervous energy. He blinked, and suddenly he felt the high back of an adjustable workout bench resting against his back.

“Feelin’ better, little bro?”

Blood surged through his head. His snapback had been reversed now, and he smirked cockily at the behemoth as he let out a drunken laugh. “Huhuhuh. Never been better. Guess I just ... blacked out. Sorry for scarin’ ya.”

Big Bro chuckled. “Dumbass. Now go drop kick that plateau into next week!”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Fuck, yeah!”

Big bro grinned. “Back to work, little bro.”

Brandon’s shoes glowed with the floor panels as veins began to creep up his calves. His eyes became glassy as he gave a vapid grin. “You got it, bro.” “Keep this up, and you’ll be partying with me and the other bros in no time.” Big Bro grinned as he turned away, carrying off a pair of red shoes that had torn around the seams. He pressed a button on his watch and smiled dreamily as he walked along past other muscle men working to grow as big as they can. All of them stared blankly as they pumped in time to their regimens. “Yo, Big Bro reporting from Franchise 72. One of the little bros outgrew the shoes. He woke up for a little bit, but I took care of it.” He chuckled. “Bro’s gonna be a fucking beast, the rate he’s going. I’ll make sure he remembers to size up on time next time.” He nodded, then shuddered as his shoes glowed. “Yes, Sir. I will work out. Will set an example.” He grinned as he passed to an empty weight machine that ghosted along the tiles just as rapidly as he approached it. “Big bro out.” He closed off the call and let out a deep brainless guffaw as the music resumed in his ear buds. His heart rate picked up. His muscles tensed. He reached for the grips. And descended into darkness.